Passage 1
For such reasons I was very glad when ten o’clock came and we started for Miss
Havisham’s; though I was not at all at my ease regarding the manner in which I
should acquit myself under that lady’s roof. Within a quarter of an hour we came to
Miss Havisham’s house, which was of old brick, and dismal, and had a great many
iron bars to it. Some of the windows had been walled up; of those that remained,
all the lower were rustily barred. There was a court-yard in front, and that was
barred; so, we had to wait, after ringing the bell, until some one should come to
open it. While we waited at the gate, I peeped in (even then Mr. Pumblechook said,
`And fourteen?’ but I pretended not to hear him), and saw that at the side of the
house there was a large brewery. No brewing was going on in it, and none seemed
to have gone on for a long long time.
Passage 2
The passage was a long one, and seemed to pervade the whole square basement of
the Manor House. We traversed but one side of the square, however, and at the
end of it she stopped, and put her candle down and opened a door. Here, the
daylight reappeared, and I found myself in a small paved courtyard, the opposite
side of which was formed by a detached dwelling-house, that looked as if it had
once belonged to the manager or head clerk of the extinct brewery. There was a
clock in the outer wall of this house. Like the clock in Miss Havisham’s room, and
like Miss Havisham’s watch, it had stopped at twenty minutes to nine.
Passage 3
I crossed the staircase landing, and entered the room she indicated. From that
room, too, the daylight was completely excluded, and it had an airless smell that
was oppressive. A fire had been lately kindled in the damp old-fashioned grate, and
it was more disposed to go out than to burn up, and the reluctant smoke which
hung in the room seemed colder than the clearer air -- like our own marsh mist.
Certain wintry branches of candles on the high chimneypiece faintly lighted the
chamber: or, it would be more expressive to say, faintly troubled its darkness. It
was spacious, and I dare say had once been handsome, but every discernible thing
in it was covered with dust and mould, and dropping to pieces. The most prominent
object was a long table with a tablecloth spread on it, as if a feast had been in
preparation when the house and the clocks all stopped together. An epergne or
centrepiece of some kind was in the middle of this cloth; it was so heavily overhung
with cobwebs that its form was quite undistinguishable; and, as I looked along the
yellow expanse out of which I remember its seeming to grow, like a black fungus, I
saw speckled-legged spiders with blotchy bodies running home to it, and running
out from it, as if some circumstance of the greatest public importance had just
transpired in the spider community. none SavePreviewText Editor
Passage 1
For such reasons I was very glad when ten o’clock came and we started for Miss
Havisham’s; though I was not at all at my ease regarding the manner in which I
should acquit myself under that lady’s roof. Within a quarter of an hour we came to
Miss Havisham’s house, which was of old brick, and dismal, and had a great many
iron bars to it. Some of the windows had been walled up; of those that remained,
all the lower were rustily barred. There was a court-yard in front, and that was
barred; so, we had to wait, after ringing the bell, until some one should come to
open it. While we waited at the gate, I peeped in (even then Mr. Pumblechook said,
`And fourteen?’ but I pretended not to hear him), and saw that at the side of the
house there was a large brewery. No brewing was going on in it, and none seemed
to have gone on for a long long time.
Passage 2
The passage was a long one, and seemed to pervade the whole square basement of
the Manor House. We traversed but one side of the square, however, and at the
end of it she stopped, and put her candle down and opened a door. Here, the
daylight reappeared, and I found myself in a small paved courtyard, the opposite
side of which was formed by a detached dwelling-house, that looked as if it had
once belonged to the manager or head clerk of the extinct brewery. There was a
clock in the outer wall of this house. Like the clock in Miss Havisham’s room, and
like Miss Havisham’s watch, it had stopped at twenty minutes to nine.
Passage 3
I crossed the staircase landing, and entered the room she indicated. From that
room, too, the daylight was completely excluded, and it had an airless smell that
was oppressive. A fire had been lately kindled in the damp old-fashioned grate, and
it was more disposed to go out than to burn up, and the reluctant smoke which
hung in the room seemed colder than the clearer air -- like our own marsh mist.
Certain wintry branches of candles on the high chimneypiece faintly lighted the
chamber: or, it would be more expressive to say, faintly troubled its darkness. It
was spacious, and I dare say had once been handsome, but every discernible thing
in it was covered with dust and mould, and dropping to pieces. The most prominent
object was a long table with a tablecloth spread on it, as if a feast had been in
preparation when the house and the clocks all stopped together. An epergne or
centrepiece of some kind was in the middle of this cloth; it was so heavily overhung
with cobwebs that its form was quite undistinguishable; and, as I looked along the
yellow expanse out of which I remember its seeming to grow, like a black fungus, I
saw speckled-legged spiders with blotchy bodies running home to it, and running
out from it, as if some circumstance of the greatest public importance had just
transpired in the spider community. none SavePreviewText Editor